


The Light in Which You Paint

by DiamondWings



Series: Bloom, Love [9]
Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Felix is a literal work of art come to life, Fluff, Growing Old Together, M/M, Painting Felix, Renaissance AU, Renaissance Painter Woojin, Renaissance sculptor Woojn, Some angst, There is more to paintings come alive than you'd think, YOU WON'T REGRET IT, honestly idek how to explain this, it's my favourite thing I've ever written, just read it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-25 05:06:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21571270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DiamondWings/pseuds/DiamondWings
Summary: He was a sculptor, not a painter. He had a dream, however, that begged to become reality. So much so, it just might…
Relationships: Kim Woojin/Lee Felix
Series: Bloom, Love [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1553968
Comments: 31
Kudos: 131





	The Light in Which You Paint

**Author's Note:**

> A true love in denial… 
> 
> Felix chuckled. 
> 
> True lovers in denial could be a pain, but that was what he was usually here for. He was glad to see that that incarnation of him and his partner hadn’t needed his help and flourished on their own, though; without even really realizing it at first, too. True lovers like that were the ones he liked watching the most, usually. It was frustrating, but all the more satisfying when eventually, finally, they realized what massive dumbasses they were being and admitted to their feelings…  
> Felix sighed, feeling content. True love was destined for him in other incarnations, it had been proven time and time again, and in so many forms and shapes… Even if it turned out to be denied to him in this incarnation, he would be able to live happily now, knowing that his soul would not stay alone forever.
> 
> He got up, stretching and summoning his cape, ready to leave his halls and join his friends in the main temple on top of the hill, when he caught the surface of the pond ripple yet again.
> 
> “Another?!” He gasped quietly, quickly returning to his bed to sit and watch…

He may not have been as renowned as Da Vinci or Michelangelo, his works nowhere near as famous as Donatello’s or Verrocchio’s, but Woojin was fine with that. He knew the quality of his sculptures, and so did his clients; and while he didn’t get the same recognition as those his peers and predecessors did, he did well enough to sustain himself and his apprentices – now, that was selling himself short. He did really, _really_ well, especially for an artist at his young age; not that that was anyone’s business. And when it came to the fame… He could live without the pomp and the troubles that came with it, without the insane expectations and demands, and the unconquerable work-load.

Besides, it weren’t his sculptures he craved recognition for. No, his true passion lay somewhere else. It lay with crushed flowers and minerals, feathers and seashells, and exotic spices in vibrant colours he didn’t even know the name for. It sat in mixtures of pigments with water, egg-yolk and oils of all kinds. It was found in brushes of all sizes, from a palm wide ones to ones that were barely as thick as an eyelash, made out of the softest hairs found on any creature, or even the coarse bristles from a pig’s back. And ultimately, it materialized on sheets of canvas on wooden frames, secured on sturdy easels hidden away in his private atelier for no soul to lay an eye upon until one day he deemed a result perfect.

Countless canvasses he had filled over the years, experimenting with mixtures of pigments and solvents to obtain the perfect shades of colour he envisioned in front of his mind’s eye, with shapes and forms, portraits of people and animals, flowers and buildings. And countless canvasses had been burned to ashes, so the imperfect brushstrokes, the pallid colours and overall amateurish attempts would never fall judgement to another human’s eye.

He was well aware that learning was a process, it took time and many, many failed attempts; that didn’t mean that he needed any witnesses for those attempts.

As of late, his struggle seemed to bear fruits, though. Especially with this last work, which he dedicated all of his time that didn’t go into schooling his apprentices and satisfying his clients to.

Night in and night out, sacrificing sleep and food, social gatherings and any other leisure activity, he worked on this last piece; ever careful, ever painstakingly meticulous, terrified of a misplaced brushstroke to ruin the work of art taking shape on the formerly blank sheet.

The shape was that of a boy – more like a young man, actually – that Woojin had envisioned in dreams many a time. A man like him had never before dwelled among mortals, Woojin was sure of it. No mere human would ever have grown and kept hair as lustrous, in such gentle, fair waves that let even spun gold pale in comparison. Eyes the dark colour of pine-honey that held the near scorching heat of the summer days it was collected in held the onlooker’s gaze entranced, and full lips the colour of ripe strawberries evoked a sweetness unparalleled on one’s own lips with a mere glance at the heart-shaped pout they were set in forevermore on the illustration. Expanses of skin as soft as the face of pink peaches, painted in a shimmer that could have stemmed from the blessing of both the sun on an end-of-summer afternoon or the full moon on an early spring night were barely hidden by the fabric of a more sheer than white stola that revealed more than it hid. And there was much to reveal, for the man’s body was sculpted in a way even the old gods would envy! Lines more graceful than any nymph’s, not a single sharp angle piercing the overall softness despite the defined muscles that spoke of a strength only a closer look would betray, delicate hands that put even Venus’ her own to shame, and feet that carried his body with the grace of a dancer on the wind. To top it all off, high on his face lay a dusting of kisses from the god of the sun himself; considered a blemish on anyone else, but on him, they merely accentuated his perfection.

The dedication with which Woojin worked on this painting bordered obsession; with the shape and even the details of the boy long since completed, he should have been focusing on the background, but instead found himself coming back to the projection of his dream time and time again. Whether it be making the dark lashes framing his eyes just a little longer, the slight dip below the perfect arch of his nose a little more defined, the lips a little shinier; placing more stars in his eyes, and capturing the reflexes of the sun in his hair even better; accentuating the sheerness of the stola, and correcting the shading of his elegant muscles… And there was always room for one more, maybe two, of the kisses of the sun-god; one below his eye, and one on his temple, maybe?

Woojin figured not a single glance would be wasted on the background of the piece anyway, neither man or woman, pauper or rich, young or old would ever be able to tell if he’d left the background bare or painted the most elaborate scenery in the history of painting after laying eyes on the epitome of male perfection taking up the front and center of the image.

Amidst all those minimal corrections, Woojin found himself dreading the day he would finished the painting, for it would mean goodbye to the hours he could spend with it. Inevitably, that day came, though, and it was with an aching heart that Woojin lifted the last brush laden with paint for the final stroke that would deem the piece complete.

He’d long since decided that he wouldn’t sign the painting with his name, initials, crest or any other that marked it as his creation; instead, he would name the young man it portrayed, for it felt wrong to leave him name-less. And so, with elegant letters that only the most eagle-eyed would ever spot among the flowers at his feet, Woojin painted the name he had chosen: Felix, for all the happiness he brought him with his beauty, and the luckiness he felt to have been able to portray his mind’s image so accurately.

His eyes closed reverently as he lowered the brush, a small, sad smile adorning his lips as he turned away to go about cleaning his brushes one last time; corking the vials of pigments and oils; washing palettes and spatulas, sponges and rags; wiping down his work table one last time.

Without another look back, he blew out the oil-lamps and candles, one by one, and left the atelier for the night, to catch a few hours of sleep before the hustle and bustle of the day demanded his presence and attention.

***

Having gotten more than just his usual three to four hours of sleep that night, Woojin was awake earlier than normal in the morning. His first thought as soon as the remnants of sleep faded from his mind went to the painting of the man in his atelier; he was finished, complete. And he had yet to see him in daylight!

As soon as that thought crossed Woojin’s mind, there was nothing else he could think of, and throwing off his blankets, not even bothering to change out of his nightgown, he rushed to the door connecting his private chamber to his atelier to see the man – Felix – in all his glory bathed by the morning sun.

The doors thrown wide open, Woojin froze on the threshold; his mind couldn’t comprehend what his eyes were telling him, for it should not be possible what he saw: nothing.

The canvas was empty.

Well, not empty; the flowers were still strewn on the ground where Felix’ feet had danced, the curtains framing the tall window he had stood in swaying gently in an imagined breeze, the sun shining brightly upon the fields covering the gentle hills in the distance. But Felix – he was gone, as if he’d never graced the canvas in the first place.

The sight took Woojin’s breath away, tears stinging his eyes as he wondered if it had all been a dream, after all. The remaining paint smudges in the colour he’d painted Felix’ name in under two of his finger-nails told him it shouldn’t have been, but then again, there was a painting on the easel, after all.

“This cannot be true…” He shook his head, screwing his eyes shut as he pinched himself, hoping it was all just a nightmare and upon opening his eyes, Felix would be back in the painting. When he did reopen his eyes, however, the painting continued void of the man he had so painstakingly painted.

“No, no, no…! Felix, where did you go?” He rushed towards the canvas as if a closer look would reveal his whereabouts.

He kept shaking his head as he took in details of the painting he had never painted himself, covering the canvas where Felix’ body used to stand. He hadn’t drawn that vase in the corner, or the pillows on that chaise. There had been no bowl of fruit on the table, nor a winding path flanked by tall cypresses going up that hill in the distance, leading to a villa on the top.

However, there had been Felix’ name among the flowers on the ground, and that, too, was gone now.

“I am going insane… I must be losing my mind…! This can’t be happening, this can’t- can’t-…!” Woojin raked his hands through his hair in anguish, the look in his eyes wild as he stared at the canvas.

In his craze, he missed the light shuffling sounds behind him until a light clinking followed by a gasp broke the silence in the atelier. Suddenly startled and all too ready to blame the first person he found for the events of the morning -unfairly or not, he didn’t care in the moment – he whipped around, ready to confront the intruder.

His gaze fell upon a figure in the corner furthest away from him, cowering in on themselves and hiding behind nothing but a sheer piece of fabric. Woojin’s eyes narrowed in anger as he strode over to the figure.

“Who are you, and how did you get in here? What did you do to my painting?!”

The figure cowered further in on themselves, shaking like a leaf in the wind, and Woojin lost his patience. With a swift movement, he took hold of the shawl-like fabric and ripped it off the figure – just for his breath to catch in his throat for a second time that morning.

The person was bare underneath the sheer fabric, but that was not what took Woojin by surprise. It was the identity of the person; an identity he didn’t think possible.

“F-Felix?” He must be losing his mind for sure, this was not possible; but maybe if he didn’t resist it, it would all start to make sense… If he just gave in…

The person – young man – turned his head finally, lowering his arms with which he was shielding his face at the sound of the name, and Woojin took a few stumbling steps back, having to grab a hold of the work surface to steady himself and regain his balance.

“Felix…” He whispered, reverently almost. There was no way this was real, this wasn’t really happening…!

“This can’t… Are you real? Am I dreaming?” Woojin mumbled, inching forward again and crouching in front of the man when he started to tense up, to show he was not of any threat to him.

He reached out carefully, slowly, at the same time afraid to touch him and find he was not real, and desperate to know for sure.

Felix didn’t move away, though he followed the path of Woojin’s hand warily with his gaze until the tips of his fingers brushed the skin of his face.

“You- you’re real…!” Woojin whispered – no, more choked – in the silence of the atelier. “You’re really… real…!” He laughed nervously, cupping Felix’ cheek.

The tender gesture prompted Felix to drop his guard, understanding that Woojin meant him no harm, and he lifted his own hand, covering Woojin’s as it still lay against his face, and held Woojin’s gaze with his own as well.

“How is that possible? How did you-…? How? I painted you, I know I did. You were… You were on that canvas, just before I went to sleep, and now…?!”

Felix only looked up at him with wide eyes, understanding in his gaze but no answer to his questions coming past his lips. A nervous, incredulous chuckle slipped past Woojin’s lips, and he started retracting his hand from Felix’s face, dejected.

“No, you can’t be real… I must be dreaming, still… This can only be a dream…”

His hand didn’t go far before Felix chased it with his own, though, holding it tight and bringing it to his chest. His skin was warm, as warm as the tone he had painted it in, and there was a steady heartbeat in the confines of his ribcage.

“But… How?” Woojin couldn’t let go of that question, and Felix showed no signs that he was going to answer him.

“So, you are real… And can you understand me?”

Felix kept holding his gaze, but his brow creased with worry. Something was amiss, yet Woojin didn’t know what.

“Can you? If you can… Why are you not answering?” Of course, that was a futile question, for if Felix didn’t answer the previous questions, there was little to no chance he would answer this one.

To Woojin’s surprise, Felix reached up, though, slowly, too, like he had before, and Woojin didn’t move away, waiting for what it was he wanted to do. Since he stayed still, two of Felix’ fingers landed on his mouth while he kept holding Woojin’s gaze.

“Mouth… my mouth? What’s with my mouth?” He wondered, trying to make sense of Felix’ gesture, but before he could wonder too much, Felix removed his fingers from Woojin’s mouth and pressed them against his own instead.

“Your mouth? Is something wrong with your mouth? Can you… can you perhaps not open it?”

In response, Felix lips parted, but only a silent breath passed them.

“No that’s not it… Wait! Do you perhaps not have a voice?”

Felix’ eyes lit up, and Woojin took that as an affirmation.

“Oh… Oh! If that is it… That doesn’t make things easier, but we can work with that. We… we have to find some way to communicate… Yes, yes; hands are good.” Woojin smiled as Felix lifted his hands. “Also, the head! If you want to say yes to something, nod like this.” And he showed him how. “And for no, you shake it like this… Well done!” He praised as Felix followed his movements up with ones of his own.

“Good, good… That helps… So, first of all… You did come out of the painting, didn’t you? I’m not going crazy?” Woojin started inquiring, but it must have been too many questions at once, since Felix looked up at him with an expression filled with confusion and little else.

“Forgive me, too many questions. You came out of the painting?” Woojin repeated his question, to which Felix nodded in answer.

Woojin exhaled a breath that spoke of his relief.

“I am not going insane… You are the man I painted…!”

Again, Felix nodded his head in assent, and Woojin laughed in relief. The tiniest of smiles tugged at Felix’ lips, and it was a breathtaking sight even in its simplicity.

“Do you… Do you know why you don’t have a voice?” Woojin decided to inquire further, and Felix nodded slowly. “Do you think you can show me, somehow?”

Felix’ head tilted to one side as his eyes glossed over in thought, before he nodded just once. He moved where he was sitting, making to get up, and Woojin moved back to give him space.

Once Felix had stood up, bare in all his glory, Woojin nearly believed himself in the presence of the old god of the Greek, Apollo. If it hadn’t been for the fact that he knew he had painted him himself, his heart would surely have given out in that moment, confronted with such divine beauty.

As Felix moved towards the painting that had birthed him, Woojin felt the need to halt him in his quest for the time being.

“Felix, wait…”

Felix halted, turning back towards Woojin with an inquisitive gaze. Woojin felt faint, forcing himself to fix his gaze on Felix’ own two eyes as he approached him with the sheer stola still in his hands, reaching out to cover him as best as possible with the garment. Felix followed his actions closely, curiosity in his expression but no shame. In his mind, Woojin berated himself for not having painted Felix with more modesty, for his complete lack of it was surely testing him. If he didn’t want to lose his sanity after all, he would have to make sure Felix covered up. For now, the sheer stola would have to suffice, but he would see to it that he found him some proper garments as soon as possible.

Once satisfied, Woojin stepped back, indicating for Felix to proceed, and Felix approached the canvas he had stepped out of pointing at it.

“Something to do with the drawing?” Woojin attempted a guess, and Felix nodded, pointing at his own mouth.

“Your mouth… and the painting…”

Felix nodded at first, but then shook his head. His lips parted again, for barely a moment, before he closed them again, pointed at them, and back at the painting.

“I fear I don’t understand…” Woojin voiced his thoughts quietly, thinking hard about the possibilities of what Felix could be trying to convey to him.

Thus, discouraged from that approach, Felix decided on another. He stood in front of the painting, pose resembling strikingly the one Woojin had painted him in, and pointed at his mouth again.

“Hmm… Wait…! The way… The way I painted your mouth?”

Felix’ nod was enthusiastic, and quickly he dove away from the painting.

His gaze travelled searchingly around the atelier until it landed on a still blank canvas. His eyes lit up, but instead of approaching the canvas, he approached the work surface, taking one of the dry brushes in his hand and approached Woojin with it. His eyes looked up at the sculptor with infinite trust as he reached for one of his hands and placed the brush in it, folding Woojin’s fingers tightly around the handle. He held on to his wrist then, tugging, encouraging Woojin to follow him to the empty canvas. There, he lifted Woojin’s hand holding the brush, having him mime painting.

“You want me to paint…?” Woojin’s voice was laden with uncertainty, but Felix nodded, before laying his hand flat to his own chest.

“You want to paint?”

That guess was followed up with a vehement shake of Felix’ head.

“I understand. You don’t paint; I paint.” A nod.

“And I paint…” Felix placed his hand on his chest again. “I paint you?” Another nod.

“You want me to paint you again? On this canvas?”

Felix nodded, then pointed at his mouth and opened it.

“You… You want me to paint you with an open mouth?”

A look of bewilderment crossed Felix’ expression for a moment, followed by an amused one as he shook his head and proceeded to open and close his mouth in rapid succession.

“You want me to paint you… talking?” This couldn’t be it, Woojin was sure of it. How was he even supposed to accomplish that? Felix, however, nodded in assent.

“You want me to paint you talking… How do I paint you while talking…? I cannot lay words into your mouth, nor can I portray the movement of your lips…” Woojin mused, his mind working and calling him liar as he spoke. He had portrayed the movement of Felix dancing, why shouldn’t he be able to find a way to portray the movement of his lips?

Despite his discouraging words, Felix gaze upon him remained full of hope and trust, and it served, if anything, as the motivation Woojin needed to set fire to his ambition.

“If I paint you using your voice, it means you will be able to use it outside of the painting?” He had to confirm, had to be sure, as an idea started forming in his mind. Felix nodded again, confirming his theory.

“In that case, I shall paint-”

He was interrupted as a knock on the door to his bedchamber sounded out.

“Master Woojin?” A maid called out, and Woojin startled.

Yes, but of course! The time must be quite advanced in the morning, and the staff of the house must be wondering about his whereabouts, since it was most unusual for him to leave his chamber so late. They couldn’t know about the events of the morning; they mustn’t know, either! Hastily, Woojin rushed over to the door to his bedchamber, turning back to Felix with a finger pressed over his lips to bid him silent, before the futility of the warning registered in his mind. When it did, his eyes rolled in a plea for sense for himself, while Felix hid his mouth behind his hands, but the mirth and amusement in his eyes told Woojin he was laughing silently to himself.

“I am awake, Maria, though I fear my condition is not of the best on this day. I shall come down in a moment, if only to instruct the youth about the tasks of the day.” A lie, but a necessary one.

“Master Woojin, shall I call for the medicus?” The maid’s tone became worried, and Woojin felt regret over the lie bloom already.

“There is no need to bother him just yet, Maria. A day of rest should suffice.”

“If Master Woojin is sure…”

“I am.”

“I shall prepare a strengthening meal, then.”

“Make it two, Maria.” Woojin called after the retreating maid, thinking of Felix, and he could hear her footsteps halting in the hallway. “I am feeling particularly hungry today.” He made up the quick excuse.

Maria didn’t answer, nor did she question, but Woojin knew that by the time he arrived in the kitchen, two meals would be ready for him.

“Come, Felix.” Woojin called once he was sure the maid had left, and approached the chest he stored his garments in. He found one for himself quickly, a simple every-day outfit he would regularly wear to work, and then hesitated. The coarse material of the linen was irritating to the unused skin, and Felix skin was so rosy, so soft… No, linen was not for Felix. He closed the chest and moved over to another, pushed further back in the room.

Upon lifting the lid to that one, finer materials shone in the light of the young day. He leafed through the carefully stacked garments, pausing on a red one of a finer texture. It wasn’t too pompous, but it was of good quality and befitting to his status. He often wore it to the marketplace and when delivering commissions to his clients.

As he pulled it out, and held it up in front of Felix, he grimaced, though. Too wide, too bulky, the wrong colour; Felix would seem pale in it, and it wouldn’t do him justice. The garment wandered back into the chest.

A dark green one was Woojin’s next choice, but he discarded it quickly. A lighter green perhaps, but the material, while fine looking, was too coarse for him to want it touching Felix’ delicate skin. Garment after garment followed, each and every single one not passing the criteria Woojin had established, until he reached the bottom of the chest.

Only one garment was left, a light blue one made of the finest silk the merchants could bring to the city. It had been made for Woojin when he’d been younger, before his shoulders had filled out. It didn’t fit anymore, yet it was too fine a piece to let go of.

As he lifted it out of the chest and held it up in front of Felix, his eyes lit up with appreciation. Yes, this was the one. This was a garment befitting of the young man, gentle on his skin and complimenting his tone, not too wide on him and not detracting from – rather, enhancing - his natural elegance.

“Wear this, Felix. And wait here, while I tend to the matters of the house. Do not leave these chambers. I will be back shortly.”

With those words, Woojin hurried out. When he came back, far later than he would have wished for, yet not even after a full hour, he came bearing a tray of food.

“As I instructed the apprentices, an idea struck me about how I should go about that painting you requested. Eat, as much as you please, while I shall see to how I will execute this idea of mine.” He informed Felix, handing him the tray. Felix answered him with an expression of confusion, but Woojin did not see it, already on his way to the atelier.

If Woojin hadn’t been as focused on his new goal, he surely would have found entertainment in watching Felix experience the different flavors and textures of the foods assembled on the tray for what was the first time in his life. Determined as he was to grant Felix a voice to speak with, he missed it, unfortunately, along with the wonder Felix displayed while he explored the chambers he was granted access to when boredom overcame him.

He would have missed mealtimes, too, but his maid Maria was nothing if not accustomed to the Master’s peculiarities and served them up to his chambers; two portions each time.

Woojin barely touched the food, too entranced by his work, and as the sun started to set, Felix joined him in the atelier, approaching him with care. For him and him alone, Woojin set his work aside for a moment, curious about what it could be he wanted from him. Felix didn’t try to convey a message, though, merely reaching up to place a gentle hand on Woojin’s face for a moment, retracting it with a gentle caress before turning his back on him and walking over to the canvas he had stepped out of.

Under Woojin’s disbelieving gaze, Felix placed a hand on the canvas, but… it passed through the surface. His arm followed, then his foot as he set it inside the painting, his leg, and then all of his body. With the last ray of the sun hiding behind the horizon, the painting grew still, Felix frozen in his movements in the same position Woojin had first painted him in, no trace of the blue silk garment he had worn just moments before, instead clad again in the sheer stola.

“No… No! Felix!” Woojin awoke from his trance, rushing towards the painting, but it was back to the same it had been before Woojin had gone to bed the night before.

“Felix, no! Please, this can’t be real… I am dreaming, again…! No, a nightmare! Felix!”

If there was a way Felix could hear him, there was no way he could show it, as the Felix in the painting looked back at Woojin as serene as ever, eyes warm, a light pout on his lips, posture full of grace in the dance-step he was captured in.

“Felix, Felix… Come back, please, come back out…”

But Felix stayed immobile, and Woojin felt heartbroken. Had this whole day been a dream? Had it been nothing but an illusion? He looked around, finding the outline of the new painting, the tray with dirtied plates standing in the adjacent bedchamber; a set of two, meant to be shared. He dragged himself up and went to the chest with his fine robes, inspecting one by one, but found the blue silken one missing.

No, it couldn’t have been an illusion. And if today hadn’t been an illusion, it could happen again. Maybe, if he could finish the new painting… Maybe then, Felix would return!

His goal set, Woojin returned to the atelier, lighting lamps and candles and throwing himself into his work. He worked all night long, not allowing himself a single moment of rest, until the sun rose above the horizon again. And still, he refused to set down his brushes and paint, the only goal in his mind finishing the painting as soon as humanly possible, with the hopes of seeing Felix again; in the flesh, not on canvas.

Tiredness started to weigh down his hands, however, his eyes struggling to stay open, and he had to take a step back before he ruined the long night’s hard work with a tired brush-stroke.

A choked yell ripped from his throat when he felt a hand on his arm all of a sudden, and, spinning around and away from the unexpected touch faster than he could blink, he felt his breath catch in his throat at the sight in front of him. Felix stood in the middle of the atelier, wearing an apologetic expression, while the canvas he’d stepped out of the day before was bar of him once again.

“Y-you returned?”

Felix nodded slowly.

“H-How? Why did you- What made you step back into the painting? And come back? How- _How?_ I thought-… I thought I had to finish this one first, before you could return-” He was cut off by a finger covering his lips, Felix effectively silencing him.

Calmly, Felix took Woojin’s hand in his and guided him to the large window on the other side of the room, pointing outside at the sky. No, not the sky; the sun.

“The sun?”

Felix nodded.

“What about it?”

Felix pointed at the other side of the room, then at the painting. Then, at the sun outside again, and made a sweeping motion from the painting to the floor.

“You… you have to return to the painting at night, but can come back out during the day?”

Felix nodded, a happy smile lighting up his face because Woojin had understood his explanation at the first try.

“You can come back every day?” He had to make sure, and his heart soared at Felix’ answering nod. “And you will?” Again, a nod, and Woojin found himself rushing towards Felix to envelop him in his arms, pulling him close to his chest. Felix let him, reciprocating rather shyly, until Woojin let go of him again.

A look of determination settled on Felix’ features then, and he took Woojin’s hand in his own, tugging him towards the bedchamber.

“What- what are you doing? Felix?”

Felix did not answer; he didn’t even attempt to. He only halted once they reached the side of Woojin’s bed, letting go of Woojin’s hand only to quickly unfasten the strings holding Woojin’s garments together before quickly brushing them off his shoulders.

“Felix!” Woojin exclaimed, his response delayed by incredulity and tiredness. His hands flailed aimlessly, and before he knew it he was only in his undergarments. Felix took a hold of his hand again, tugging him towards the bed. He climbed on first, urging Woojin to follow, and in his daze, Woojin did. His thoughts were a whirlwind, by far not all of them pure, but they came to a sudden halt when Felix pushed him back onto the pillows, quickly covering him with his blankets.

He wanted to laugh, at himself and at Felix, and the absurdity of the whole situation. He was too tired, however, and while he found absurd that the young man from the painting who’d only known him for a day would have the audacity to manhandle him into his own bed, he could tell from his expression alone that his intentions were pure and with only Woojin’s wellbeing in mind. And so, he refrained from laughing, letting Felix find a comfortable position for himself on the bed as well, and as he was already drifting off into the realms of dreams, he vaguely registered Felix’ hand starting to run through his hair.

***

Woojin was fast asleep when a knock sounded on the door.

“Master Woojin?”

Felix recognized the voice of the maid from the day before, but he couldn’t answer her. For one, Woojin’s head was resting on his chest, arm slung across his waist and effectively holding him in place so he wouldn’t have been able to get up to open the door to her if he wanted to. And then, there was the small inconvenience that he had not been blessed with a voice of his own.

Woojin didn’t stir, either, and so the woman received no answer.

“Master Woojin, are you in?” She asked again, and again got no answer.

“Master Woojin, we are worried. If you don’t answer my call, I will come in.”

Felix did not particularly like that idea, but Woojin didn’t so much as twitch in his sleep in response to her calls, and he couldn’t answer, so there were not really any options for him.

True to her words, the sound of a lock sliding back sounded moments later, an the door swung open.

A small cry wrung itself out of the petite elderly woman when her eyes fell on Woojin and Felix on the bed, and she quickly turned her back towards them.

“Master Woojin!” She sounded scandalized. “You could have warned me not to come in! I was not expecting you to have company; I apologize, kind Sir, Master Woojin’s manners leave a lot to be desired, and I would like to apologize profusely, both for him and myself.”

Felix could not answer her, and Woojin remained fast asleep, so silence followed her words. It was certainly unusual, and she turned back around to peek at them, frowning when she became aware that nothing had changed in the scene she had walked in upon.

“Master Woojin?” She asked, concerned, and eventually approached the bed, giving Felix a wary yet curious look.

“Is he… sleeping?”

Felix nodded, and she sighed, stemming her hands on her hips.

“Has he been working all night again?”

Again, Felix nodded, and she mumbled something unintelligible under her breath that strongly resembled a curse.

“He will work himself to death one day, the foolish child! I shall bring breakfast for you, young Sir. Please let Master rest for as long as he can; if he wakes up, please let him know Maria instructed the apprentices.”

Dutifully, Felix nodded, even if he had no idea how he should convey that message, and Maria left the room again.

***

By the time Woojin arose from his slumber, the whole house had been informed about the presence of a consort in the Master’s bed. By the time Woojin first heard about the spreading of that rumor, the news had long since leaked outside, and by evening, the entire city would know about it. There was no need for Felix to remain hidden anymore, and Woojin showed him around the rest of the house, though he refrained from introducing him to his disciples and most of the staff, bar Maria.

Despite feeling sufficiently entertained during the rest of the day Felix spent with Woojin, by the time the sun neared the horizon again, Felix’ mood shifted. He was no longer able to stay still, and eventually urged Woojin to follow him upstairs to his chambers.

Just as the night before, he lay a hand against Woojin’s cheek as soon as they entered the atelier, holding Woojin’s gaze with his own for a long moment before retracting his hand with a caress and stepping back into the painting. And just like that, with the last ray of the sun fading away, Felix became still again, unresponsive as a simple painting on canvas.

From the moment Felix stilled, Woojin felt his absence rather painfully. He needed to distract himself, and what better way than by continuing the painting he had started the day before? Again, he worked well into the night, though this time decided he would fare better if he went to bed at some point before dawn, to be able to spend the day with Felix.

***

Over the days, Woojin and Felix quickly fell into a routine; with the first rays of sunshine climbing over the horizon, Felix would step out of the painting and join Woojin on his bed, waiting for him to rouse. Woojin would introduce him to something new every day - be it foods, garments, music, art - though seldom people. Sometimes, Woojin would take him out into the city – an overwhelming experience every time – but most times, they would stay in, with Woojin lecturing his apprentices while Felix watched out of sight. At a certain point during the afternoon, Woojin would grow restless and start working on the new painting of Felix, and Felix would be left to entertain himself on his own; his favourite past-time in those moments, however, was still watching Woojin. Come sunset, Felix would approach Woojin, interrupting his painting, and bid him farewell for the night, before returning to his painting. After that, Woojin would throw himself into his work with his body and soul in an attempt to forget that Felix was not with him, and to make the time until the next morning pass faster.

Eventually, the night came where Woojin was done with his new painting of Felix. Unlike with the first one, he highly anticipated this moment, but just like with the first one, it was as if he couldn’t find an end, correcting the smallest details and adding final touches here and there and somewhere else, until there really, truly, was nothing to add anymore.

Satisfied, Woojin stepped back from the painting, taking in the finished piece of Felix standing a serene clearing, singing with the birds and angels surrounding him. It was a beautiful piece – to Woojin, mainly because of Felix, of course.

Highly expectant to see if his efforts would bear fruits, Woojin went to bed that night, though slumber would not come to him for a long time. His intention had been to be awake before sunrise, to wait for Felix to step out of his painting, but the weight of his tiredness was too great and he slept through it. Instead, just like every morning, Felix stepped out of his painting and came to join Woojin on the bed. Impatience plagued him on that morning, however, and instead of waiting quietly for Woojin to wake up, he decided to hasten the process.

Quietly, barely audible at first, Felix began to sing, testing out his new voice. As he grew comfortable with it, his voice grew louder gradually, and eventually it became evident sleep was losing it’s grasp on Woojin. Felix didn’t cease his singing, a small smile stealing itself onto his lips as he kept singing even after becoming aware Woojin had woken up.

Woojin found himself unable to interrupt Felix’ singing, enraptured by his voice. His was not the voice he had imagined as he painted Felix singing in that clearing, but somehow even more perfect, more colourful, varying from impossibly deep to crystal clear like an angel’s.

A while passed, until Felix deemed he had regaled Woojin long enough with his singing, and ended his song. Silence encompassed them for a long moment, in which Felix’ searching gaze found Woojin’s eventually, looking up at him with an unreadable expression; unreadable only because the emotions that warred for supremacy on it were so many, but there was no doubt that they were all predominantly positive, each and every single one of them encompassed in admiration.

“That was-… You are-… Your voice-… Beautiful…!” The words came out stuttered, in a reverent whisper.

“Thank you. I couldn’t have wished for a better voice…”

Woojin, too, couldn’t have envisioned a more beautiful voice, even if one could think it wasn’t a voice that matched with Felix’ face.

As he was able to shake off the remains of sleep and his amazement over the discovery of Felix’ voice, awareness of the new possibilities of communication settled within Woojin, and he found himself impatient to ask Felix all of the questions that had him wondering ever since Felix had first stepped out of the painting, but that he had deemed too complex to ask Felix at the time, too difficult to answer without a voice. Still, with remarkable restraint, he was able to wait until after breakfast, until they were both alone in the privacy of Woojin’s chambers again, before the barrage of question’s poured out of him.

The first one came involuntarily, almost, when Woojin stepped into the atelier for the first time, seeing both paintings without any traces of Felix on their respective easel’s.

“So… Which one did you step out of this morning? Which of these… are you right now?”

Felix stepped up next to him, observing the paintings from where Woojin was standing, too.

“Both of them. However, I will only return to one at the end of the day.”

Those were news that Woojin had not expected.

“Only one of them? Why? Which?”

Felix pointed at his original painting.

“That one. The other you painted is a part of me now, and it will not separate from me again. The painting will stay as it is, as if I had never been in it, and I do not need it any longer. I will only need the first one, to return to at night.”

Those words took a moment to sink in for Woojin, and he stepped closer to the second painting. Just like what happened with the first whenever Felix was not in it, the background of where Felix’ figure had been had completed itself without Woojin’s help, leaving no trace of Felix’ previous presence.

“What if something happened to this painting now… Would that affect you?” He wondered, but Felix shook his head.

“No. Even if it was destroyed, it would not affect me. My voice can not be taken away from me, unless you paint me mute again.”

The thought alone appalled Woojin, but it brought in more questions.

“So, whatever I draw you in will affect you?”

Felix nodded in assent.

“Yes. Whatever skill you paint me performing I will have acquired the next time I step out of my painting. Paint me reading, and I shall be able to read. Paint me playing the lute, and I shall be able to play the lute… That is, within reason, of course; I am merely human, so if you painted me flying with an angel’s wings, I will not suddenly acquire wings. And I do not know for sure if there would be repercussions for the attempt to bestow such a gift upon me.”

The mention of repercussions rang ominously to Woojin, and he took a mental note to keep that in mind for the future.

“And you will disappear out of all the paintings I paint you in, aside from the original one? Forever?”

Again, Felix nodded.

“Yes. All those versions of me will become one with me, and their paintings become mere empty vessels without any importance. But, as unimportant as those empty paintings may become… The original is all the more important for it. Should it become damaged or destroyed, so will I be. If the painting is no more, I won’t be, either.”

A potent wave of fear washed over Woojin, and he vowed to himself to do whatever it took to keep Felix’ painting safe and protected at all times.

***

“What is it like… To be in the painting? And why do you have to return?” He wondered later that day, over an early dinner.

Felix finished chewing slowly before answering.

“It’s… peaceful. I can see what happens outside of the painting, but I do not have to worry about it. When you are working, I can watch you, and hear you, and it’s comforting. It’s… rejuvenating, it takes away my tiredness from the evening before, and by the time I step out of it in the morning, I feel refreshed. The painting is where I go to be restored; and I am bound to it for the night, for you worked on it exclusively during the nights when you created me.”

A pensive hum sounded from Woojin, each question Felix answered bringing new ones with it.

“So… you don’t sleep when you are in the painting?”

Felix answered with a shake of his head.

“No.”

“So, if you don’t sleep… You don’t dream?”

“No.”

Imagining a life as such, without dreams, was unfathomable for Woojin, since it had been his dreams that had first brought him Felix.

“Do you think you could, if you slept? For that matter, do you think you could sleep? And recover your strength through sleep?”

Felix’ shoulders lifted in a gentle shrug.

“Possibly. I might be able to sleep during the day, but I don’t feel the need to. I’d rather spend what time I have outside of the painting productively. The days with you are short enough as they are.”

None of that answered the one question that pounded at the forefront of Woojin’s mind, but that he was hesitant to ask. It was only when the time came as the sun touched the horizon and Felix rose from his seat, ready to return to his painting, that the question ripped itself off Woojin’s tongue and spilled into the air between them.

“Is there nothing either of us could do to make it possible for you to not have to return to the painting?”

Felix halted mid-step, though didn’t turn to meet Woojin’s gaze, instead staring unseeingly out of the window of the atelier.

“I don’t know… I wish I did. I wish I could spend the nights with you, too, but I do not want to be ungrateful for what little time I have with you already…”

Woojin found himself unable to respond, and Felix resumed his path, stepping into the painting without a second glance back.

“I wish you didn’t have to return to that painting, too… I curse this prison of canvas every single night, every minute between sunset and sunrise. With every day that passes, I miss you more when you are a mere lifeless picture…” Woojin’s words barely carried through the pink-lit air of dusk, and he was unsure if Felix would have been able to hear them.

For an hour, at best, Woojin did everything he could think of to keep himself occupied. It was far too early in the night for him to even attempt slumber after months of staying on his feet until the early morning hours, busy with painting. Now that there was no painting to be done, he felt lost, his time meaningless.

He did not make it another half an hour without returning to his private atelier. Felix’ presence, if only in the form of his painting called out to him like a siren, and he could not resist. Still, he felt as though he were a fool as he stood in the dimly lit atelier, staring at the painted canvas. He needed a purpose, a goal… And that was when he remembered Felix’ words about his skills. Maybe he should paint Felix again, give him another skill. Reading had been one he had mentioned, and Woojin wondered if that would be a skill Felix would like to have. It was certainly a useful one…

Many hours later, Woojin set down his sketching tools, stepping back from a previously blank canvas that now held the outlines of Felix sitting at a desk, a letter in one hand, a quill in the other.

***

A month passed, and the painting was complete, until Felix stepped off his own canvas in the morning and his form vanished out of the new one. His first destination was the desk in Woojin’s bedchambers, and it was with delight that he found the letters in the books and on the scrolls littering the surface making sense to him.

Two more months flew by, and Felix acquired the skills of playing the lute and the harp, and after a third, he woke in the morning with a talent for poetry. The paint on the canvas depicting him stringing words together in beautiful verses was not yet dry, yet a new canvas was already in place, bearing a sketch of Felix riding a beautiful stallion as it flew over the hurdles found in a thick forest, shooting a bow from its back.

Preoccupied with his paintings, wanting to bestow as many gifts and talents as he could think of on Felix, Woojin nearly came to neglect the young man during the hours of the day. He already neglected his apprentices and his sculpting work, neither teaching nor sculpting bringing him joy and fulfillment anymore. Made aware of this injustice towards his apprentices by Felix, he arranged for them to train with other masters of the art, each of them at the very least as skillful as him in both sculpting and teaching, if not more.

Once he’d let go of his apprentices, Woojin realized, however, that they were not the only ones suffering the injustice of the lack of his attention, and he vowed to spend every minute of every day that Felix was on the same side of the canvas as him with him, to Felix’ great delight.

The days were soon no longer spent in the confines of the walls of Woojin’s town-house, but exploring the world beyond it at any given opportunity, from sunrise to sunset. All of the skills Woojin bestowed on Felix found their use and application, and within no time whatsoever, Felix became an established figure in the circles of artists and aristocracy, artisans and plebeians alike. There was not a soul who didn’t love him among the people of the town, and even far beyond its borders.

With that much attention on the one he loved above anything else, one would expect Woojin to become jealous, and he certainly had in the beginning, wanting to deny Felix the interaction with people beyond his household. An argument had ensued, which had culminated in Felix returning to his painting hours before sunset, and remaining in it throughout the next day. With such a reminder of Felix’ free will and scared of the possibility of losing him by trying to keep him for himself only, Woojin had never dared another attempt at restraining Felix’ freedom. Truth be told, Woojin soon learned to revel in the knowledge that despite the hundreds coveting Felix’ attention, willing to make fools out of themselves for a single smile from him, he was the only one Felix’ eyes shone with true love for, the only one his smile ever held more than a mere pleasantry for, the only one his hands touched with a warmth that went beyond a mere friendly touch.

Years passed, and the layers of dust in Woojin’s workshop grew as the sculptor lacked inspiration and joy for the art of sculpting. What time he didn’t dedicate to accompanying Felix on his adventures inside and outside the house or town, he dedicated to painting. Eventually, Woojin let go of the workshop that had housed him and his apprentices for years, not a sliver of regret touching his heart. Instead, he sold the first of the paintings Felix’ form had vanished from, the scene in the clearing, where angels and birds sang together both in competition and harmony.

The painting caused great curiosity to stir in the art-loving circles of the aristocracy, for it lacked a traditional centerpiece, yet at the same time… It didn’t. The painting was beautiful and complete as it was, not in need of any figure in the center, yet it evoked the sense of a melancholic void in whoever laid eyes upon it. It was that contrast in visual and emotion that captivated the public, and stirred great interest in Woojin’s work as a painter, kept a secret for such a long time.

The success of the first painting to be sold led Woojin to sell the other empty canvasses – empty only in the sense that they lacked Felix’ presence – as well. Many times, from then on, with every public appearance of Woojin on any social function, the same questions were directed at him: why were all of his paintings lacking a center-figure? Why did he only paint empty spaces?

And every time, Woojin’s answer was the same.

“There is but one figure I would want to paint over and over again, for he is the center of my world; without him, every space is empty. It is that emptiness I paint, to remind myself of how my life would be without him in it.”

***

As the years passed, not everything was made of sunshine and untainted happiness. While Woojin didn’t dare complain anymore, it was Felix who grew tired of having to return to the painting every night, and he was unhappy for it. He didn’t tell Woojin the reason of his unhappiness for the longest time, but eventually, the frustration was too great and it burst out of him when he eventually admitted to it, and Woojin couldn’t show understanding, instead reminding him to be grateful for what they had.

“Grateful? How can I be grateful if I can’t live a single day without being aware of how short my time with you is? How can I be grateful, when everyone around me talks about the dreams that come visit them when they sleep, yet I don’t even know what it is like to sleep? How can I be grateful when I’m told the greatest joy in life is falling asleep in your lovers arms at the end of a long day, yet that will forever be denied to me?

“And haven’t you noticed, that with every day, week, month, year that passes, you age, but I do not? You will grow old, while I will forever be stuck in this form, not aging a single day; and soon, the same people who compliment me for it will come to hate me, grow suspicious and smite me. The same people who applaud our love now will become disgusted as our apparent difference of age grows, and will shun us for it.

“And still, none of that is even close to the worst; no. The worst is that with every day that passes where you age and I don’t, you are a day closer to the end of your life. I will see you grow old and die, yet I won’t be able to come with you. As long as my painting survives, I will survive, possibly decades after you leave this mortal realm; maybe even centuries, and that even though I don’t want to spend a single hour without you!

“So, tell me again: How can I be grateful?!”

Woojin could not, his heart aching with the pain Felix was in that he had not even realized. And with that, his goals changed, and both his and Felix’ life took a turn. They ceased going out as much, attending social events much less frequently, opting to stay in their home instead. Woojin didn’t paint anymore, and Felix put to use his knowledge of the many languages Woojin had bestowed on him as both of them took to dedicating their time to one single goal: finding a way to free Felix from his prison of canvas.

Their search remained fruitless for weeks and months on end, and their sudden disappearance from the public eye causing many suspicions and stirring more rumors than they could count. The superficiality of it all angered Felix, making him reluctant to return to the social circles he had once felt so comfortable in even if he were to ever find himself free of the painting and with enough time to indulge in the social activities that had once brought him joy. Woojin, on the other hand, could not find it in himself to care about what the townspeople had to say about him; he never had. All that mattered to him was the happiness of the one he loved, and he dedicated his everything to it.

It was not a book, not a scroll or board or any scripture that brought the answer to their quest to Woojin, however. It was one night, long after Felix had had to return to the hated canvas, that Woojin still sat at his desk, reading, when tiredness overcame him and he fell asleep over the big tome in front of him. He was not asleep for long, the position uncomfortable and causing the joints of his back to ache all too soon, but it was enough for a single image to form in his dream, an image that could prove to be the answer to the question they were desperately seeking an answer for.

Woojin wanted to run and present the possibility to Felix, but Felix was trapped in the painting. He would have to wait until the morning until he could tell him, yet in the meantime, his mind changed. He would not tell Felix, he decided. He did not want to disappoint him should the solution he had dreamt of not work, did not want to raise false hope just to let him down. And so, he decided to work in secret.

The answer the dream had presented to him was, of course, a painting. And so, he painted; exclusively at night, and hidden from Felix’ view. During the day, he pretended to help Felix in his quest to find an answer to their supposedly unanswered question, consoling and encouraging the love of his life when his hope to ever be free appeared to dwindle.

Eventually, after a much longer time than with any of the paintings he had painted before, Woojin found himself putting the last of the finishing touches on the painting he had been working on in secret.

The painting showed Felix, but a slightly older version of him, standing in front of the painting that had birthed him, looking on impassive and with a completely serene expression as the painting was consumed by flames.

It was a beautiful piece, probably the most beautiful one Woojin had painted up to the date. It was raw with passion, vivid colours and strong brushstrokes depicting the desperation in every single moment of it’s creation, yet as detailed and painted with the same precision as always; if not with even more of it.

It was getting close to morning, the sky slowly lighting and stars disappearing one by one, when Woojin set the brush to the canvas one last time, painting the last stroke. With a trembling exhale, he stepped back, taking in the finished piece. It was haunting, he found. It looked too real, the colours too vivid, even in the light of candles and oil-lamps. The fire burning Felix’ painting seemed to burn with a light of its own, illuminating the painting from within, and the longer he stared at the painting, he felt as if he could almost smell the stench of burning fabric and wood, feel the heat of the fire on his skin…

A blink of his eyes brought him back to reality; a reality in which he was standing in front of a burning canvas. A choked cry ripped itself out of his throat as he surged forward, desperate to put out the flames, keep them from consuming the rest of the painting and spreading to the room around him. He couldn’t have a fire in his house, could not let it spread! He might not care too much for the house, but he would never get Felix’ painting out of the house in time, and if he lost him…

Woojin could not bear the thought, swatting at the fire with his bare hands, with rags meant to clean brushes, not halt the progress of flames. He swatted and stomped, the smoke and the heat bringing tears to his eyes as the skin of his hands blistered, though it seemed like nothing could be done as the flames consumed the rest of the canvas. Then, though, from one angst-filled moment to the next, the flames were gone. Woojin could not believe his eyes, his breathing still labored with the fear from moments before, though no traces of the fire remained.

The easel the canvas had been sat upon was uncharred, and even the frame the fabric had been nailed to did not show any traces of ever having been touched by fire. It was merely the canvas itself that had burned, not a single fiber remaining on the frame, all crumbled to ashes on the floor. While Woojin was watching still, a gust of cold air he could not fathom the origin of swept around his feet and scattered the ashes in such a manner not even a trace of them could be found in the small chamber Woojin had taken to painting in. It was as if neither the painting nor the fire had ever existed. The only proof of either were Woojin’s hands, still stained by paint and raw with blisters and burns.

Searing pain registered in Woojin’s conscience, both from his burned hands and in the depths of his soul. There had been no candles or lamps close to the painting that could have set it ablaze; it must have caught fire on its own. It must have been the same magic that had brought Felix to life all these years ago that destroyed the painting he had just finished. Maybe a warning, telling Woojin not to attempt to free Felix from his canvas again… or maybe a punishment for attempting it in the first place.

Ice cold fear washed over Woojin as he realized his actions might have had repercussions he had yet to find out about. What if it had not just been this painting that had burned? What if with this one, so had the other one; the one he had foolishly painted on fire?

His heart sat locked in a freezing iron grip as Woojin stumbled to his feet, pushing objects and doors out of the way as he ran, every second keeping him from knowing the fate of Felix’ painting unbearable.

He fell to his knees hard after rushing into his atelier, where Felix’ painting still stood after all these years. The painting was untouched, appearing as it always did, during the day. Though of Felix, there was no trace on it.

“No… No…!” Woojin sobbed, hot tears cascading down his face as he stared at the empty painting, his heart breaking a million times over.

What had he done?!

Violent sobs wracked his body, the pain in his heart nothing like he had ever felt before and making the one in his bleeding hands feel mild in comparison.

Weakly, he tried to bring himself to get closer to the painting, though his body would not cooperate, arms and legs not heeding his commands as he could only stare at the empty frame from afar.

He did not hear the light creaking of the door behind him, or the rushed steps approaching him. He ignored the hands on his shoulders, barely registered the voice in his ears.

“Woojin? Woojin! What happened- Your hands! Woojin, love, what is the matter? Talk to me, love…! You are scaring me; why are you crying? And why are you hurt? Can you hear me?”

It wasn’t until Felix moved in front of Woojin, cupping his face in his hands and forcing him to focus on him that Woojin realized Felix was there with him.

“F-Felix?” His voice broke as he whispered the name.

“Yes, love. I am here. I am here with you…”

“Felix!” The cry was choked, and Woojin’s sobs grew only more violent as he collapsed in Felix’ arms.

“Woojin! What is wrong, love? Why are you so heartbroken? And why are you bleeding so much; what did you do to your hands?!”

Woojin could not answer; he tried, but he could not. Not for a long time, in which Felix simply held him at first, then gently coaxed his up onto his feet and over into their bedchamber, where he laid him to rest on the bed. Woojin remained unresponsive as Felix cleaned and bandaged the wounds on his hands, though he let Felix coax him into drinking a few drops of mulled wine; it was what brought him back from the confines on his mind eventually.

“I thought you were gone…” He whispered into the silence of the room. “When I saw the painting, without you in it… I thought it was the end; that I had lost you forever.”

Those words could not have surprised Felix more.

“Why would you think that?”

Woojin could only shake his head, though.

“I was so sure… Why were you not in the painting anymore? When I came in?”

“The sun had just risen, and I had gone to find a garment for the day in our room when you came running through. You did not halt or see me, did not answer my greeting. You came in here and I heard your cry. That was when I followed you, yet you would not answer me.”

Woojin remained silent for a long moment.

“The sun had risen…?”

“Yes… How else would I have left that damned canvas?”

A laugh that bordered on hysterical fell from Woojin’s lips, though he quelled it quickly, allowing the silence to return to the room.

“Are you going to tell me why you thought you had lost me…? And why your hands are so terribly burned?” Felix inquired after a while, causing Woojin’s breath to catch in his throat painfully.

It did not seem like Woojin had any intention of answering Felix’ question for the longest time, and Felix had already made his peace with that when Woojin eventually did answer.

“I thought I had found a way to free you from that painting… Though I did not know for sure, and I did not want to give you false hope, so I kept it a secret. I worked on it in secret, every night, for the past three months. I put my everything into it, and all my hope. And just this morning… I finished it. I did not know what I was expecting, but… I certainly did not expect it to burn. Out of it’s own accord, it burned. It simply caught aflame. I tried to put out the fire, though I had nothing to help me, so I used my hands and some rags… And then suddenly, it was over. The fire was gone, and all traces of what I had done with it. There is nothing left… For a brief moment, I considered it a mere warning to not tamper with what we were given, but then I became aware of the possibility that it could have been more than that. I grew worried and the only thought in my mind was to make sure you were unharmed, that your painting was unharmed… And when I came in to see you gone from the painting… It did not even cross my mind that the sun could have risen in the meantime…”

Felix listened in silence, holding Woojin close to him as he recounted the events, and his heart sank, along with the remaining hopes he had that they would ever find a way to free him from the painting.

“You are right in assuming that it was most likely a warning… We should not try to attempt freeing me again…” Felix’s voice was barely above a whisper when he declared his decision after a long moment of silence. “As much as I wish to be free… As much as I hate returning to that canvas, being separated from you for all eternity rather than just the nights would be infinitely worse. All I ask of you is to not leave me behind when you go…”

Woojin’s throat closed up, his heart aching at Felix’ request. He knew what Felix meant, of course he did. He knew what he was asking of him, and why, though Woojin was not sure he could make and keep the promise Felix was asking of him, so he remained silent. Both remained silent for most of the day, in fact, having their old maid bring them food to the room and barely ever leaving the bed. For the most part, they sat holding each other, comforting each other throughout the entire day, not wanting to let go – not able to let go - unless it was unavoidable.

The unavoidable came with sunset, and ever so reluctantly, Felix rose to return to his painting. Woojin followed, not wanting to waste a single second of time with Felix, and he did not let go of his hand with his own, burned one, until they were stood in front of the canvas.

The sun touched the horizon, and Felix left one last kiss on Woojin’s lips, passionate and longing, before letting go of his lover’s hand and reaching up for the canvas.

However, unlike ever before, his skin hit fabric and paint instead of passing through the canvas, melting into the image.

“What-” A startled gasp fled his lips, and he glanced at the sun, already halfway gone behind the hills in the distance.

“What’s wrong?” Woojin inquired, rising his gaze which had temporarily fixed on the floor to not have to witness Felix disappearing from this pane of existence for the night.

“I can not-” Felix’ palm hit the canvas again, the painting shaking on the easel it was placed on. “I can not get in…?!” A note of panic swung in his voice, palm pressing against the fabric as he followed the descent of the sun behind the horizon, yet the canvas remained impenetrable against his skin.

“Woojin…!” He called out as the last of the sun’s rays faded from the world, and he remained by Woojin’s side. “Could it be…?”

Woojin found himself unable to breathe, afraid - oh, so afraid! – of the possibilities for them, with Felix being denied access to his painting.

“I don’t know, Felix… I don’t know, and I’m scared…” He admitted, and Felix held on to him in such a manner there was no doubt in Woojin’s mind that he felt just the same.

They stood there, in the atelier, until the last of the towns towers and roofs at the top of the hill were bathed in shadow rather than sunlight, yet nothing happened. Felix remained in Woojin’s arms, and the painting continued as a painting, denying Felix access.

Felix did not sleep that night, even though Woojin succumbed to sleep rather soon despite his own fear, not having slept the previous night. Just before sunrise, Felix woke him, though.

“Woojin… I’m scared…” He admitted, and Woojin held him for comfort.

“Do you feel anything? A pull? An urge?” Woojin inquired softly, though Felix shook his head no.

“Nothing…”

And so, they sat and waited. And waited. And the sun rose, the first rays coming over the horizon, slowly, until the whole fiery orb left the line of hills in the distance behind and began it’s journey across the sky.

Felix remained in Woojin’s arms, nothing indicating a possible need for him to leave.

***

Hope was a fickle thing, and they dared not indulge in too much of it, yet whenever Felix tried, the painting denied him access, day in and day out.

And with that, all over again, Felix had to learn; he had to learn to sleep, to rest, to not skip meals and look after himself. Wounds took time to heal, sickness left him bedridden for days; hunger plagued him several times a day, and drinking was no longer done only too keep Woojin company. His body relied on purely mundane ways for sustenance and recovery, and yet, Felix would never have wished for anything else. Not even when the first wrinkles carved themselves into his skin, and a light ache in his knees limited the time he could dance. All of this, he accepted gladly, for it finally meant he didn’t have to leave Woojin for hours on end at night anymore. He could fall asleep in his arms, and wake up by his side. He could dream of a future for the two of them at night, and he even took the nightmares in stride. He was grateful for every step he followed Woojin as he aged, though in Woojin’s eyes, he never lost any of his beauty.

His freedom had come at a price, however.

Woojin’s hands, badly burned, never fully recovered enough to hold a brush again. He tried, many a time, but the strokes he made were shaky, imprecise, and no defined figure would come from his attempts at painting.

That, too, was a sacrifice Woojin did not bemoan, though. He was sure he would find a new passion elsewhere soon enough.

And he would be right.

Not long after gaining his freedom, Felix let Woojin know of his dissatisfaction with life in the town. The people and their superficiality tired and upset him, and he wanted nothing to do with them any longer. Woojin himself did not hold a particular love for the town, either, and so, one spring morning, he sold the house that had been their home for years now. They didn’t take much, some garments, a few keepsakes and heirlooms, objects filled with memories, as they departed the city on a journey towards the sea.

There, on a hill set outside a small fisher village, Woojin had bought them a new house. It was nowhere near as big as the one in their hometown, but it was all the more comfortable for it, with a small garden behind it, an orchard on one side of the road leading down the hill to the village, and a field on the other.

It was in that house that they found true happiness, and themselves. Woojin soon found a love for tending to the earth, coaxing it into growing the tastiest greens and fruits, while Felix kept a small flock of chicken, a few geese and ducks, and convinced a myriad of songbirds to stay and nest in the trees around the house. They lived in bliss, unworried and comfortable, sharing every day and their love with each other.

In secret, there was one niggling thought in the back of Felix’ mind, however. It was a small worry at first, prodding at his mind once a year at best in the beginning, then every few months, until it became more frequent. It spiked and came forth especially should Woojin fall sick or get hurt; it was the fear of being left behind alone as they grew older.

Woojin did not know of that fear of his, but Felix couldn’t shake it off anymore as time passed.

He was not afraid of growing old and dying, no. He was not even afraid of Woojin dying. His fear merely consisted of Woojin leaving, and him… not being able to follow.

All these years ago, when they had left the town, Woojin had rolled up the canvas Felix had come from, tucking it away in the bottom of one of their chests, and taken it with them. They did not want to chance it getting destroyed or lost, not knowing what that would come to mean for Felix.

Now, that canvas had faded, the paint having grown dull on the fabric, and yet, Felix unrolled it and put it up on a frame once more; unbeknownst to Woojin, hidden away in the small room he kept the feed for his birds in.

He experimented with the painting, wondering what happened if it got damaged; nothing, he found, after piercing a corner of it. Nothing happened to him. Not even if he tore it, or burned a piece. And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to finally get rid of it for good.

Instead, Felix mended the fabric he had damaged, and set out to restore the scene it depicted.

However, out of all the skills Woojin had ever painted for him, of all the talents he had bestowed on him, there had been one he never had him learn: painting. Felix had never dared ask him for it, as he had never asked for a single one after getting his voice, but now, he almost regretted it.

Almost, because he found there was a certain magic to learning a skill by himself, as he experimented with mixtures of pigments and solvents to obtain the perfect shades of colour to restore the painting to its old glory, practiced with shapes and forms, painted portraits of people and animals, flowers and buildings to perfect his craft before touching the old canvas.

After many a canvas burned to ashes to hide his attempts, he deemed himself skillful enough to do Woojin’s work justice, and restored the painting. The background came to life again, the tall window, the flowers on the ground, the gentle hills in the distance. However, Felix had no intention of leaving the center empty, and so he cleared a space where once his own form had resided night upon night, and created his own center-piece.

All this was no rapid process by any means, though. Years passed as he experimented and learned, and more as he painted, restored and created. His advancing age slowed him down, his eyesight only allowed him to work when the light was right, and his hands getting shakier with time forced him to take many breaks. To add to it, Woojin’s health declined, too, faster than Felix’, as his more advanced age claimed it’s tribute, and a lot of Felix’ time went into caring for him.

Both were aware their lives were coming to an end, one’s faster than the other’s, but they were at peace with it. They had lived long lives, happy lives, lives spent loving each other like few people ever got to love and be loved, and no regrets plagued their minds.

As Felix’ painting progressed and came to an end, Woojin’s condition worsened. They both knew, upon waking up one morning, that it might be the last they woke up together. If it was to be the last, it was certainly the most beautiful one to take with. The sun shone warmly, a gentle breeze keeping the heat bearable and wafting the scent of millions of flowers through the open windows of the house on the hill. Small, fluffy white clouds populated the sky, and birds and cicadas regaled the world with a serene concert.

Of all this beauty, Woojin didn’t see much, sleeping for most of the day. Felix left him to it in the afternoon hours, returning to his painting. It was almost done, and within a few hours, he painted the last, finishing brushstroke.

Satisfied, he stepped back, observing the finished piece. It was beautiful; not like Woojin’s paintings had always been, but beautiful nonetheless, in a different way – in Felix’ way.

Without wasting much more time, needing the last of the daylight to show Woojin the piece, he hefted the large canvas off the easel and inside the house, bumping into furniture and walls. He was far from graceful as he did, but even if Woojin had seen him for it, he knew beyond any doubt he would still have found beauty in his actions for one reason or another.

When he finally made it into the bedchambers, Woojin was still asleep. Felix sat the painting in front of the bed, a mere few steps away. A chair was already next to Woojin’s side of the bed, and Felix sat, taking his love’s aged, scarred hand into his own, stroking it softly as he started singing. Between the touch and his voice, Felix could not tell what roused Woojin, but his eyes fluttered open and found Felix’ filled with nothing but love.

“Good morning, love…” Felix greeted with a smile.

“Morning… I may be old and my memory not the best, but I am fairly sure in my youth we used to call this time of the day the late afternoon…” Woojin’s smile was as radiant as ever in Felix’ eyes, his humor the same he had fallen in love with so many years ago. A small laugh bubbled from Felix’ lips, and he smiled lovingly down at Woojin.

“Your memory is as good as it has always been, don’t you worry about that. I have something I want you to see, though.”

Curiosity widened Woojin’s eyes, until understanding relaxed his features.

“You finished it.”

It was a statement, not a question, yet at this point, Felix was not surprised anymore that Woojin would have known despite his best attempts at hiding his endeavors from him.

“You knew.”

“I had a feeling.” Woojin shrugged, tightening his grip on Felix hand. “Help me up, please.”

Felix stood, passing an arm around Woojin and helping him sit, though Woojin wanted more. Not without worry, Felix helped Woojin stand, and it was then that Woojin looked up and at the painting. His hand tightened around Felix’ again, a proud smile tugging at his lips.

“You learned well… It is beautiful. But say, was my hair really of that colour?”

A single tear traced a hot path down Felix’ cheek as he stood next to Woojin, looking at the same painting.

It was almost the same as Woojin had painted it all those years ago, with Felix in the center, lustrous golden hair and glowing skin, his body graceful and elegant, seemingly moving despite the stillness of the picture. Though this time, he didn’t fill the space alone. This time, he did not dance alone, but with Woojin. The Woojin he had first fallen in love with, while he had still been painting him and before he had ever set foot off the canvas, with full, dark brown hair that shimmered with the reflexes of rubies in the sun, tan, unblemished skin several shades of gold darker than Felix’ own, large yet incredibly soft hands for an artist, capable with whatever they attempted out of the sheer stubbornness of Woojin’s will, his body not hiding the strength it held; the strength with which he held Felix in the painting as he held his gaze with a softness that contrasted sharply to his body.

If Woojin had painted Felix fixing his gaze on the onlooker outside of the painting, entrancing them, Felix had painted the two of them entranced with only each other, forgetting the world around them, ignoring the existence of anything else, be it inside or outside of the painting.

“Whenever I see you, your hair still looks exactly the same as back then to me. As does all of you. If someone were to ask me what changed about you, ever since I met you? The only thing I would be able to point out is your sleeping habits.” Felix’ answer came with the slightest touch of teasing, yet at the same time it couldn’t have been more sincere. The teasing was merely to provoke that beautiful, beautiful laugh Felix loved to hear more than any other sound on earth from Woojin.

“I can’t remember to have ever drawn you being such a charmer…”

Content, Felix mirrored the smile remaining on Woojin’s lips after his laugh.

“Maybe painting isn’t the only talent I learned on my own…”

“Far from it…” Woojin’s voice lowered to a whisper, returning his attention to the painting. Not letting go of Felix but urging him with him, Woojin approached the painting, marveling at the details Felix had included and demanding a closer look. Felix’ painting techniques were different from how his own had been, but the result was just as breathtaking.

Once close enough to the canvas, Woojin lifted a shaky hand, bringing it to the surface of fabric and paint depicting said hand as it had been many, many years ago, glowing in the light of the setting sun as it just about touched the horizon. He was not surprised when his skin didn’t make contact with the canvas, passing right through. Relieved, maybe, as he turned to find Felix gaze.

“Are you coming?”

With a determined smile, Felix’ own hand came up to cover Woojin’s, already on the other side of the painting.

“It was ever my only wish to be able to follow you, wherever you went.”

***

The following morning, the maids Felix had hired a long while ago as their daily tasks became too much for him and Woojin alone found the house lying in serene silence. A few scuff marks showed on the walls, and a small vase had fallen yet not broken in the hallway. Upon knocking on the Masters’ bedchamber’s door, no answer came, and after the third time, they decided to enter.

They found the room empty, the bed unmade on one side, Master Woojin’s slippers still in place next to it. Everything looked just like it did any other day, except for the large painting depicting a young couple, deeply in love as they held each other close, gazes lost in each other.

Neither in the house or around it were any signs of the Masters, and even search parties put together by the village folk did not find them after days of search, eventually resigning themselves to the fact that the two elderly must have disappeared somewhere far away, somewhere unknown.

The painting, somehow, made it back to the town Woojin had grown up in, learned in, lived in, learned in again, and started truly living in after a young man, beautiful like one of the old gods, had appeared in his life.

Those few who could tear their eyes away from the young couple taking the center of the piece would find the style the background of the painting was painted in to resemble a collection of old pieces a former sculptor had painted a long time ago, yet no one could identify who had painted the couple; the piece’s author remained a mystery, for it was not signed. Generations were left wondering who the lovers might be, though even the single line of letters painted in a golden colour among the flowers at the lovers’ feet helped not disclose their identity; it did, however tell the onlooker everything they needed to know about the life the two had led:

_“Genuinely blessed are those lucky to have found true happiness”_


End file.
